


amanda:mandy

by scarletsymphony



Series: getting ghetto married in your picturesque suburb [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Begging, Character Study, Dubious Morality, F/M, Hair-pulling, Introspection, Non-Monogamy, Power Play, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Spanking, canon typical infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletsymphony/pseuds/scarletsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren't supposed to last forever, is the thing. Keep it casual, they agreed. She knows he has a girl back home, which is the reason, she suspects, they found themselves awkwardly reaffirming their non-monogamy to each other before the start of summer. </p><p>follow up to <em>all in</em> and <em>let me</em>, but readable as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. amanda

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what's going on anymore. I'm at the stage of the writing process where I hate everything so much I can't tell if anything's good or if it's all terrible. This is definitely the fic no one was asking for, except, apparently, me. This is going to consist of: a one shot with some kinky smut, an introspective kink-related but not especially smutty interlude, and another one shot with kinky smut and a lot of off screen Mandy in it. So, it's a twoshot with an intermission, basically. Still unbetaed, still looking for a volunteer on that front.

They weren't supposed to last forever, is the thing. Keep it casual, they agreed. She knows he has a girl back home, which is the reason, she suspects, they found themselves awkwardly reaffirming their non-monogamy to each other before the start of the summer.

And because she's a tad bit obsessive she's seen a picture of the other girl, an "accidental" glance over his shoulder while he was texting — straight brown hair, sullen eyes ringed with black mascara, a surprisingly shy smile. High, small breasts, a bit like hers, actually. She decides then that she will not know the girl's name, though she knows she could probably find out, if she really wanted to.

She and Lip are comfortable, for the first year and a half. And the sex is pretty great. She's not going to lie, she spends more than a couple nights in her apartment with her hand down her pants, thinking about his hand around her neck, fisted in her hair, slapping down on her breasts, her face, her ass. The best thing is, they don't really talk about it, which is fine by Amanda. She knows that communication is like, the key to relationships or whatever but she's honestly just as happy not to talk about the 50 Shades of Grey shit that gets them off because, well, what is there to say, really?

She's safeworded exactly once, after he came up behind her and put a hand around her neck. Which was fine, he'd done it before, but it was 12 days to exams, she'd gotten a 78% on an advanced calculus quiz and she just found out that Grammy had been moved from long term care to hospice. So, it wasn't fine, this time. "Boston." she'd said, flat, monotone. He'd backed off immediately, opening his mouth to say something but she raised her hand and slashed downwards in an abortive move. "I don't want to be touched right now. I — can you get me some tea?"

He barely hesitated a second before he was out the door. Within fifteen minutes he was back with 7 different kinds of tea. He placed the cup holders on her desk, then hovered awkwardly for a strained moment, until she picked out the chai tea, took a sip, and staring down at desk, said, "Stay."

So he did. They studied, for most of the night, side by side on the bed, and slowly, bit by bit the hours untied the knot in her stomach. At exactly 11:23 pm she glanced at her phone, then put her book down. So did he, looking up expectantly. She took a deep breath. "It wasn't you. I just had a shitty day."

He nodded, once. "You okay now?"

She looked down, fiddling with the corner of a textbook page, feeling like she wanted to smile but couldn't quite bring herself to. "Yeah."

So, it's been good, is the point. They're fine, the sex is excellent, the talking is minimal. It's great. So when she meets Ethan, it's not that she's not happy with Lip, but they were always going to be casual, and Ethan is — Ethan wants to take her on dates, introduce her to his friends, take her to his family slash corporate functions.  Ethan doesn't want to marry her eventually, she was pretty clear about that upfront.

But he needs a clean cut girl on his arm for his university-levels ambitions, and someone steady to hold hands with and fuck to get through it all. He's focused, brilliant and has all these ideas about what he wants to do; she likes him. They make a good power couple. But Ethan wants to keep it traditional. She explains all this to Lip post-coitally, lying on top on him, chin propped up on his  chest, staring steadily into his eyes. He listens quietly, and after she's done he runs his hand through her hair, expression unreadable.

"Hope it works out how you want it to." he finally says. Then he sits up against the headboard, shifting them so her head is in his lap. He reaches over to the night table and takes his cigarette pack and lighter. Usually she doesn't let him smoke in bed, or anywhere in her apartment, makes him go outside. But this time she lets it slide, turning her face upwards to watch him smoke, inhale the acrid smell, letting him pat her hair, her face. After he's done the cigarette he gets up, gets dressed, and leaves. The stink of smoke lingers for a couple days afterwards.

Ethan delivers on his promises; he sweeps her off her feet, takes her to interesting places, talks to her about interesting things, introduces her to interesting people. It's nice, like she suspected it would be. When she tells her sorority sisters that  _he's nice, it's nice_  they stare incredulously at her, but she's not sure what else to say about it. It _is_ nice. It _does_ feel good. When he fucks her, he holds her like he's hungry for it, like she's beautiful and he can't get enough. He kisses frantically at her neck, pressing against her and breathes _you're so damn hot_ , makes her believe it's true.  

It leaves her feeling calm, content. She likes it.

To her surprise, Lip still keeps in contact. Not like before, of course, but he stays in the study group, texts her occasionally. They're friendly. When they come back from summer vacation for their junior year, he starts dating Carrie, a girl in her sorority house, and apparently they're getting serious. Carrie's a year older than Amanda, and Amanda's always been indifferent to her — she's the exact shade of bland but not boring enough to be annoying that lets her fade into the background of Amanda's consciousness, most of the time.

She's not surprised Lip wants to fuck her, because she's gorgeous in a way that's organic and rare. She is surprised she's his girlfriend, that he has a girlfriend at all, though, and doesn't hesitate to tell him so next time they're together alone, at a sorority hosted house party thrown to commemorate the end of the first month of school. They're both on the balcony of the chapter's house. He's smoking and she's drinking a can of pear cider.

"You know she's really into you, right? She think you two, are like, together, for serious." She crosses her fingers and waves them meaningfully.

"Maybe we are." he says, blowing out a stream of smoke.

She snorts incredulously, glancing over at him. "Yeah, okay. You ditch your Southside girl, then?"

He stiffens, frowning, and she realizes that maybe she wasn't supposed to know about that. _Fuck that._ She meets his gaze unflinchingly, eyebrow raised. He takes another pull of the cigarette, looking away with a shrug.

"She's not a big deal, just an old — "

"Oh fuck off. We're not actually banging anymore, so you don't have to pretend the girl you text all the time, who you skip school go to see when you're upset means nothing to you." Amanda rolls her eyes, hoping she's fully conveying just how unimpressed she is. She's beginning to suspect she's a little tipsy, but whatever, she stands by her words.

He's scowling at her now, putting out his cigarette on the balcony railing with more vigour than strictly necessary, rounding on her. She notes his aggravated body language with almost detached interest, eyes flickering up to meet his thinned lips and furrowed brow. "You know what, fuck you. You don't know shit about what's important to me."

She leans back against the balcony railing, faux casual. "Maybe." she concedes. "But you seem awfully defensive. Touched a nerve?" She's being bitchy now, she knows, but Lip's being an asshole, so she figures it's fair.

He takes a step closer then, and she knows what happens next. She's been drinking, but not that much. She makes the decision a split second before he steps in and kisses her. She kisses back, moving into the hard press of his mouth.

She and Ethan had agreed to break up before graduation, and well, it's a little earlier than expected, maybe — but she knows this is not okay, not really. She knows she's going to do it anyway. As Lip's hands go up her skirt to squeeze her ass, she makes a second decision. She's going to do this thing, but never again is she going to let herself be put in this position. She might be a bad person, but she's not an idiot.

And with that in mind, she pushes him away. "Not here." she says. He blinks, and offers. "Upstairs?" She rolls her eyes. "My place." Exhibitionism isn't her thing and the prospect of being caught is more alarming than exciting right now. Also, she wants to draw a line in the sand, make this about a decision both of them are making, not being about caught up in the moment,blaming it on the alcohol or any bullshit like that. She meets his startled gaze head on, and eventually he shrugs, turning away. "Meet you at your place in fifteen?" he says, and disappears before she can answer.

She texts Ethan, tells him she feels unwell and is going home, asks if they could meet up tomorrow for lunch before classes to talk about something. That done, she goes into the nearest bathroom, fixes her make up, and slips out the back.

He's waiting outside her door and she moves past him where's he's leaning against the wall and watching her, to open the door. She feels him crowd behind her, push her around until she's front first against the wall adjacent the door, one hand on her neck pressing the side of her face into the wall, second hand groping her ass. It shouldn't be as hot as it is.

She breathes out heavy and shifts her weight against the grip on her neck before biting out, "Close the damn door." He laughs, then backs off. She hears the door shut and barely has time to turn before he's on her again, arms circling her waist, hitching her up, encouraging her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. They make out then, against the wall, hard, deep and breathless. They finally break apart, panting hard. He looks flushed, and a little dazed, and suddenly she's filled with a sharp rush of annoyance, irrational, out of place. She leans forward and nips at his lip, deliberate and not too gentle. She watches his eyes darken, and feels a pulsing curl of pleasure deep in her gut.

He puts her down, careful, then fists a hand in her hair, dragging her past the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom, backing her into the bed until she falls back on it. He follows her down, caging her in with his arms, his weight, until he's right on top of her, and she's breathing hard, excitement, apprehension and anticipation winding together deliciously , making her feel warm all over. "You're going to get on your hands and knees for me." he murmurs, right into her ear.

Then he's pulling her up, pulling off her top, sliding off her skirt, not letting her do any of the work. He reaches around and undoes her bra with almost impersonal efficiency, then his hands scrambling at her panties and she's completely naked and he's still fully clothed and he's on top of her again, mouth insistent against hers, one hand coming down to squeeze her breast, hard. She whimpers into his mouth, feeling the rough scrape of denim against her legs, the warm press of his cotton button down against her side, the buttons making even impression against her skin, and it's just so fucking good.

His hand slides down her body, and he rubs at her; she can see his smug smirk even in the darkness of the room. "So fucking wet, already."

She surges up then, insinuating a leg between his, grinding rough against his hard cock through the denim for a second before collapsing back. "Yeah?" She feels more than hears him grunt above her, then his hand is in her hair, and he's pulling her up in a sitting position, flush along his cheeks belying his cool look. "Hands and knees." he reminds her, and she scrambles to obey, twists and gets her knees underneath herself, his hand still keeping a firm grip in her hair.

He nudges her thighs apart with a knee, then grinds his palm up into her clit, the hand in her hair forcing her back to arch. She moans, and finds herself relaxing into it, letting her head pull against the resistance of his grip, savoring the pain.

He lets go then,  and after a breathless moment, she hears the crack of his palm a split second before feeling the burn across her ass. He continues to smack down, hard and fast, and without the  hand in her hair it's up to her to stay still under the onslaught.

"Motherfucker." she manages, breathless and more admiring that admonishing. He pauses, rubbing a hand across her warm ass, and then smacks down four times, hard and fast. She struggles to stay still, to breathe, sensation overwhelming her. When he slips his fingers into her she gasps, and falls onto her elbows, spreading her legs and pushing back for more, deeper, trembling with the feeling of it.

She hears him unzip his jeans, and the sound makes a jolt go right down through to her her cunt, followed by a warm tingling radiating up the inside of her thighs. "Condom." she reminds him. There's a pause, and a scrambling noise, and then the sound of a packet being torn.

Amanda takes a deep breath and buries her face in the covers, trying to get her racing heart back under control. Time feels weird and hazy, but soon she feels Lip crowd against her, cock pushing against her wetness. She pushes back, and he's inside her, stretching her and it's so fucking good she moans loud and ragged, breathe coming in heave.

"Fuck, oh my god, fuck me, please. please. please." And he is, hard, her face pushing into the mattress with the force of it, but for some reason she finds herself continuing to plead, not even sure what she's asking for anymore, if she's even asking for anything all. "Please." she mouths into her soft, white sheets. "Please."

By the time he reaches around to thumb her clit she's so far gone it takes a moment for her to figure out what's going on. Then the rush of pleasure hits her and she's gone, clenching down _hard_ , waves of pleasure rising, plateauing and falling in a continuous cascade that makes it hard for her to remember how to breathe.

She comes down slowly, still feeling pleasantly floaty, and Lip's still fucking her, fast and insistent. It feels good, almost too good,  and she can tell by the sounds he's making that he's close. Sure enough, after what feels like half a minute but could be, Amanda admits through her haze, any amount of time as far as she knows, his hips stutter against hers and he comes, thrusting hard and slow through his orgasm.

Afterwards he rolls off her, and she collapses, curling up into the warmth of the sheets. A short amount of time later, he's back, arranging blankets over her, over them; she shuffles away from him until they're not touching, hooks an ankle over his, and falls into a pleasant half-doze.

An interminable amount of time later, she finds herself awoken by stirring on Lip's side of the bed. She uncurls and looks up into Lip's sleepy, disoriented face. She glances at the night table, and there's a full glass of water there, just like she taught him. She casts him an approving look before raising up and reaching for it, stretching her naked body over him in the process. He watches her, and she absently notes that he's stripped down to his boxers as she sit up in bed and sips at the water. After a couple moments she stretches back over him to put the water back, then settles over him, chin resting on his chest, looking up into his face, currently wearing a wary expression.

"We're pretty terrible people." she says, conversational. He makes a non-committal noise, watching her carefully. "I mean, at least I was already going to break up with Ethan, and he knew it. Are you planning on telling Carrie?" He blinks, taken aback. "Are you planning on staying with her?" She sounds casual, curious, but there's an edge to it, and he bristles at it.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." he replies, gruff. She raises an eyebrow at him, incredulous, then she looks intent, searching his eyes. "Does she know you love her?" she asks softly. By the way he goes stiff as a board beneath her, the way his face goes completely blank, she knows he knows she isn't talking about Carrie. For a tense moment she thinks she's going to be thrown off, that he's going to leave and never return. The moment comes and goes; he unstiffens slightly, enough to start breathing again, and says, clipped and hoarse, "Can we not talk about this?"

After a beat she nods, amicable. "Sure. Hey, do you want to move in?" He stares. "What the fuck?" he finally says, faint. She rolls her eyes and smacks lightly down on his chest. "I offered a summer ago, remember? You said something about going too fast, maybe. So, it's been over a year. Offer's still on the table." He continues to stare, for a long moment, then bursts out into laughter. The vibration presses from his chest to her, and it almost tickles. After a good minutes, he's calmed down enough to ask, "You do know you're crazy, right?" "Mhm." she nods. "So, you wanna?"

She's not sure about him, at first, but eventually he does end up moving in. It takes him almost two months to disentangle himself from Carrie, which she doesn't get, because it took her 20 minute lunch date the next day to end it with Ethan, but Lip had always tended to dramatics.

After that he began coming around, like he used to. To fuck, to study. The move was gradual, took a little over a month and Amanda didn't notice for the first six days. When the toothbrush appeared in her washroom on the seventh day she paused, considered it, and filed it away. After that, the gradual migration of his clothes and books became obvious. Right before Christmas break he breaks his dorm contract, and leaves his backpack in her bedroom, and goes home, all without talking to her.

People have noticed, of course, and they talk — there's tension in the sorority, and Carrie is now decidedly cool with her. She finds she can't bring herself to care. She goes home for the holidays, and to her amusement her father seems excited about Lip's reappearance her life, asks about the progress of his engineering degree.

They don't make any promises to each other, except the implicit one to use protection, every single time. It's not too different than how it was before, she thinks, but now, when they move around each other, there's an awareness, a quiet space for something that's them. Like she said, they have no promises to each other, and she likes it like that. But now it feels more honest, more comfortable. He's not always around, and it's not just because he's off fucking other girls — he has a family and a life she's not really privy to. But even when he's not there she feels his presence, and that, for her, is more than enough.


	2. lip

Her safeword is Boston, and she's only used it once. Lip doesn't have a safeword, but sometimes she thinks maybe he should.

She saw it the first time he slapped her in the face, the hesitation around his eyes, like maybe he had gone too far. She'd gotten on top of him then, practically forced his fingers into her so he could see how wet he made her, how good he made her feel. After that there had been no hesitation, and it was some of the hottest sex they'd ever had. Afterwards, though, there was this uncertain look on his face when he look at her, almost guilty.

So she'd sucked it up, crawled into his lap and let him hold her. Oh, she made him think it was her idea, the only way he'd do it. Curled up into his chest, she catalogued all the reasons she hated cuddling: stifling, hot, sweaty, the creepy feeling of breathing in sync with someone, when they _breathe on you._ Ugh.

The strange thing is, that despite it all, feeling him relax against her back made it completely worth it. So yeah, sometimes when they fucked and it was especially rough, she'd bury into his arms, letting him pet her, hold her, take care of her. Cuddling was still a viscerally uncomfortable, kinda gross feeling, but she found the emotional payoff was worth it, as weird that was.

Sometimes it wasn't even about the sex. He'd come in with a strained look around his eyes, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. So she'd lure him in with his cock, make him think it was about relieving stress the old fashioned way, then she'd cling to him. Not that it took much to convince him to stay. Those were the times he'd hold her longest, face pressed into her hair, arm running up and down her own, rhythmically.

It's kind of funny he hasn't figured it out yet, but Lip, for all his genius, has always been slow on the uptake when it comes to knowing what he needs.


End file.
